


Leverage

by imitateslife



Category: Victor Frankenstein (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Finnegan and Victor have an encounter in the library at Castle Erskine.





	Leverage

Finnegan’s footsteps echoed through the halls of Castle Erskine. Victor could recognize him by step alone – brisk, deliberate steps, whose intensity was only ever matched as he and Victor walked together towards the lab. But Victor was not in the laboratory now. He was combing the castle’s rich library for a bit of literature that _surely_ Finnegan had – alchemical nonsense, usually dismissed by scholars, but valued as literary work and infinitely useful as inspiration for Victor’s own endeavors. He did not step down from the ladder, nor did he look up when the footsteps slowed and grew closer.

“Frankenstein! There you are!”

That voice, high and clear and bright brought a smile to Victor’s lips. He licked them and willed them to remain neutral and hard, a firmly drawn line against Finnegan’s brand of flattery. It did not work. There was something to being believed in with such conviction that made Victor’s face go soft. His eyes, his mouth – for the tiniest moments, joy and relief would crack through. He hated himself for it. His benefactor had formerly been his rival – a chief opponent of everything Victor attempted. Always seated in the first row when Victor made a presentation, always ready with cutting commentary – most unprofessional, but there were things money could afford you that Victor could not fathom. That bright and clear voice was a trick.

 _His motives do not matter_ , Victor reminded himself. _With the funding he has put behind you, you will conquer death. You can tolerate a little classroom bullying for this. You can endure **anything** for this._

When Victor said nothing, Finnegan’s steps became slower, more deliberate as he neared the ladder. Victor felt Finnegan place one hand upon the ladder. He looked down and turned. From this vantage point, he was perhaps barely taller than Finnegan. Finnegan smiled.

“Are you still working hard or hardly working, hmm?” he asked. He placed his other hand on the other side of the ladder and now blocked Victor’s only way down. “Fritz tells me you haven’t been in the lab all day.”

Victor frowned.

“Dettweiler will say anything to attack my integrity as a scientist,” Victor said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. Finnegan’s chief engineer was the most celebrated in Europe. A condescending man with a ridiculous mustache and an even more ridiculous accent, he did not like working for Victor. Victor did not like overseeing Fritz Dettweiler, either, for his part, but sacrifices were to be made if his creation was ever to draw breath. “I was there this morning, before everyone else.”

“I know,” Finnegan said. “I saw you.”

“I didn’t think you woke up before sunrise,” Victor said with a short laugh.

He looked around Finnegan and wondered how many rungs he’d have to climb up to jump over him-

“You were talking to it.”

Victor stopped his search for an exit and looked at Finnegan’s steel-blue eyes. He was smiling – just a little bit – but no teeth were exposed. Victor waited for the sarcastic barb to come. Instead, after a moment’s silence, Finnegan said, “It really is a man to you?”

It sounded more like a question than a statement. Seeing no immediate escape Victor nodded.

“I am creating a rational, civilized being for you,” he said. “A _man_.”

“My men say you’re creating a monster,” Finnegan countered. “I’ve seen it myself – no man looks quite like our Prometheus.”

The word "our" caused Victor to prickle. Just a little. There was one man he had ever considered his partner, but if Finnegan was to be believed, Igor Straussman had fled to the arms of his acrobat lover without an ounce of regret. Igor should have been the one to call this creature, this _man_ “ours”, but instead Victor had only Finnegan. And who was he to correct Finnegan? It was through Finnegan’s generous financial contribution that Victor had the resources to create anything. He drew shaky breath and laughed.

“No, there is no one like our Prometheus,” he agreed. Then, quickly, “But he is a prototype. The first of his kind. I am sure that once the experiment goes off, we will create many more Promethean specimens.”

“No doubt,” Finnegan said.

He leaned forward on the ladder and his closeness made Victor’s throat close up a moment. Finnegan had a strange effect upon Victor – one Victor neither understood nor liked. When placed in close proximity, he could make him smile and shake inside. Victor hated it. He much preferred his usual method of dealing with people – high-handed and long-winded confidence. His jaw sawed back and forth as he tried to find a way out of his current predicament.

“You’re in my way,” he said at long last.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re standing in my way. On the ladder. I need you to move so I can come down.”

“I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

Victor sighed. “No. I honestly expected your library to be better stocked.”

“Paracelsus isn’t exactly something most reputable scientific libraries keep on the shelves,” Finnegan said coolly.

“Paracelsus!” Victor’s eyes clouded with paranoia. “Why do you think I’d be looking for Paracelsus’ work?”

“You know, it’s amazing,” Finnegan said. “The things you tell that creature in confidence, when you think no one is watching.”

Finnegan reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim volume written in German. _Die große Wundartzney_ _–_ the exact book Victor was in search of. He reached to take it from Finnegan, but wobbled on the ladder when Finnegan pulled the book away. Finnegan chuckled.

“I would think you would rely on more modern works on the matter of antisepsis,” he said.

“I have already consulted Florence Nightingale’s reports,” Victor said. “And Holmes and Semmelweis and a dozen others.”

“Curious, then, that you have need of this drivel,” Finnegan said.

“From what I understand, we aren’t dressing field wounds or delivering babies,” Victor said. “So, it follows that we – that _I_ get creative with my work.”

“Creative.” Finnegan lingered upon each syllable. “Frankenstein, I’m beginning to believe there is no man alive or dead as creative as you. But to use this trash for inspiration…! One might think you’ve gone mad. It’s quite fortunate for you we don’t have that book at Castle Erskine.”

He slipped the book back into his jacket and Victor made a noise of protest. Finnegan smiled.

“It’s _equally_ fortunate that no one but me heard you talking to the creature of it. Again, one might think you’ve gone mad…”

“There’s no need to be-“ Victor swayed right and left, looking for a way around Finnegan. “- _coy_ about it. If you think I’m mad, just say it.”

“Oh, Victor, you are amusing,” Finnegan said. “But if I thought you mad, do you really think I’d take a gamble on you?”

“That’s almost a compliment,’ Victor said. He smiled – it was not a smile of gratitude, but a wicked one, self-congratulatory and pleased. He tilted his head as he looked at Finnegan.

“You have a strange idea what constitutes a compliment.” Finnegan lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder – would you even know I was complimenting you if I decided to?”

“If you keeled over dead right after, I _might_ think you were giving me a genuine compliment. Might.”

Finnegan chuckled and leaned forward a little. His chest touched Victor’s and it was closer contact than the two ever had. The warmth of his breath across Victor’s cheek surprised him. He expected warmth out of Finnegan almost less than a compliment. He donned as annoyed a face as he could at having his personal space invaded but he couldn’t mask the curiosity in his gaze.

“Did you just come here to tell me you _don’t_ have the book I’m looking for - even though you very clearly do?” Victor asked. “Or merely to annoy me?”

“Am I annoying you? We’ll call that a fringe benefit. No. I didn’t come here to _annoy you_ – and I don’t think I _am_.”

Victor swallowed hard. He tried to look away. There was nowhere else _to_ look. And he wasn’t one to shut his eyes to the world around him. Especially not when the world around him wore a smile and seemed to _intentionally_ be holding him against the ladder so that he had no escape. His breath hitched and he exhaled slowly through his nose. Closed his eyes. Inhaled again. Exhaled shudderingly when Finnegan’s hands tugged him downwards by the cravat. The tip of Finnegan's tongue brushed the outer shell of Victor's ear. 

His eyes flew open.

“You really should go to bed,” Finnegan whispered. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Finnegan, I-“

“All our work, all _your_ work will be for nothing if you drop dead from exhaustion,” he continued. “And I didn’t invest in a funeral. I invested in _you_.”

“So you’re worried about losing your deposit, is that it? I’m not one of your investment properties-!”

Finnegan’s lips covered Victor’s and silenced his protests. What began as muffled protest quickly became a desperate, primal groan. Victor’s nails bit into Finnegan’s scalp. Beneath them, the ladder rattled and creaked. One of Finnegan’s hands slammed into the rung beside Victor’s head for support. The other pressed hard against the base of Victor’s skull. It slid down his neck and to his chest as the kiss deepened and finally pressed firmly against Victor’s chest and then grasped at his shirt as if the electricity of their touch finally jolted through him. The violent surge of the kiss ended as quickly as it began, but the changed energy charged the air as Finnegan stepped down from the ladder and cleared Victor’s path to exit.

“You really ought to go to bed,” he said breathlessly. A hand slicked back a strand of his blonde hair. If Victor didn’t know him better, he’d guess that Finnegan was embarrassed or perhaps _surprised_. Maybe he was. There was only one way to find out –

Victor stepped off the ladder. It wasn’t a graceful move, but one full of power and strength. He smirked at Finnegan when he landed and began to close the gap between them.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” he said. “I’m not one of your lackeys, Finnegan.”

Suddenly, a leonine and hungry look flashed in Finnegan’s grey eyes. His smile was more fang than tooth. Victor got the distinct impression that Finnegan wanted to sink those teeth into his skin. His own smile went a little off-kilter at the thought.

“You most certainly aren’t,” Finnegan murmured. “If you were, I wouldn’t extend an invitation.”

“Invitation?”

“Don’t be so dense, Frankenstein. I just asked you to go to bed – did you really think I meant your own? I want to keep an eye on you at the very least-”

“I heard an _suggestion_ , maybe an _order_ , but not an invitation. Normally, I’m not one to quibble about _semantics_ but if you want me to go to bed with you, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

Finnegan laughed shallowly. Victor looked at him, merely cocking his head expectantly, and waited. Finnegan’s laughter faded.

“You can’t be serious-“

“Can’t I?” Victor asked, stepping towards Finnegan.

As he walked towards him, Finnegan took a step back and then another. There was something inside of Victor now that burned. It must have been flickering like a flame in his eyes, in his smile. He’d call Finnegan’s bluff, he’d show him that he wasn’t just someone to kiss and discard or someone to tease and torment- Finnegan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Victor could hear him swallow. And then he heard him collide with a marble podium and bust. He didn’t have to look to imagine Finnegan’s white hands blush as his palms bit into the stone for stability. Victor’s grin deepened and he leaned forward. His lips grazed the corner of Finnegan’s mouth, but did not kiss him.

“Ask.”

“ _Victor_ -“

His lips swept to Finnegan’s jawline. He could feel Finnegan’s pulse. It ticked rapidly. Victor could imagine what it would feel like under exertion-

“Victor, will you-“ A shudder. “Will you-“

Victor’s hand wandered down the front of Finnegan’s trousers. Finnegan made a soft, strained sound. 

“ **Please** come to bed with me?” The words rushed out of Finnegan’s mouth in such a deluge, they might have been one word. Victor kissed him on the lips and behind them, the marble bust rattled against its stand.

“Can you wait until we get to a bed?” Victor teased.

Finnegan pushed him off of him and laughed. It was a rich, dark sound – surprisingly unlike his usual laughter. Throatier. More genuine. _Appealing_. Victor looked at him curiously.

“I’ve waited this long,” Finnegan said. “What’s it been? Two months alone with you in this castle… And I’ve waited. Are you going to make me wait some more or are you going to come with me?”

They crashed into the nearest bedroom in Castle Erskine, a flurry of discarded cravats and jackets, vests and shirts, all done away with by eager hands. Shoes skittered across the floor as they were kicked away. The shushing sound of fabric as trousers were pulled away to leave them exposed to each other and ready to be touched and kissed and expended against the soft mattress. They grey-yellow light of a rainy afternoon faded into dark by the time the pair exhausted themselves and each other. When morning came, Finnegan awoke alone. In Victor’s place was a note:

_Finnegan,_

_Thank you for everything last night. Especially Paracelsus. I will return him to his rightful home in your library when I am done with him. If you want him back, you’re welcome to persuade me to give him back._

_You know where to find me._

_\- Victor_

He didn’t have to rifle through his jacket pockets to know that the book by Paracelsus was gone. With a groan and a laugh, Finnegan sank back against the pillows and imagined just how he might “persuade” Victor to do his bidding next time. 


End file.
